


Blow off steam

by babydragon7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: “Ilya, have some mercy!”“You’re tougher than that, Cowboy”.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Blow off steam

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine. Do not own.
> 
> Procrastinating writing porn, what else is new?
> 
> just edited a rating to explicit, because of a bit of swearing just to be on the safe side.

“Ilya, have some mercy!”

“You’re tougher than that, Cowboy”.

Then comes the smell of a birch tree. Then comes the first blow…

XXX

“How hot was it again?” 

“Round hundred and ninety Fahrenheit”. 

“Hundred and ninety degrees? If you wanted me dead, you could have thought of something more elegant”.

Ilya smirks at him, as he stand outside of the small hut, breathing some crisp, some fresh, lovely autumn air.

“And all this wild nonsense with beating me with those bushes! Knew you were a kinky fucker, but not to that extend”.

Ilya is completely in his element. He stands tall; clad in only a tiny something round his loins, sweaty and so gorgeous, so at home here at an empty farm type place – _hutor_ – in Ukraine. It is a small house with several sheds adjoined, one of them hosting a private Hell called _banja_. ‘Not a sauna, Cowboy. Finnish sauna is dry, here we add steam and it is so hot, you can go in for three to five minutes, then you rest. I’ll show you’.

“You’re hot”, Napoleon says without any jest or double entendre. He thinks he sweated them out. “Steaming”. There really is a small steam rising from Ilya's mostly naked body.

“You’re not half bad yourself”, Ilya smiles. Who is this and what has he done with real Red Peril? “Ready for a second round?”

“No, Ilya, for the sake of the red Kremlin stars spare me!” Napoleon whines.

“Ok. Just wait here a second”.

Napoleon nods, relieved, and turns his back to the door. That is apparently, what Ilya had planned for all alone. Betrayal comes in the form of the bucket of cold water, which Ilya upturns on Napoleon with gusto and a wicked laugh. Napoleon should have shot him back in Berlin, that bastard.

XXX

Napoleon comes back to his senses sometime later. He went inside the house, found a clean sheet and wrapped it around his abused body. He did not take the beating in stride. Napoleon is sorry to admit he whined, wiggled, and promised Ilya all sort of things. He would have given up his Rembrandt for the chance to get out. Admittedly, the birch branches had leaves on and smelled heavenly, and now his body feels relaxed and sated in some strange way, but still.

“Tea is ready”, Ilya calls from the small table in the corner of the room.

He has prepared tea in _samovar_ and Napoleon can smell the drink infused with herbs, mint maybe, and the sweet smell of honey, linden, is it?

They drink tea. Ilya has wrapped himself in sheet as well, and he is lovely, relaxed, and pink all over and has a teasing smile, Napoleon so rarely gets to see. He wants to touch so bad he feels his bones ache with restrained desire.

“Peril, there is something I wanted to ask…”

“Want some more wet fun?” Did he mean it to sound so dirty? Napoleon wonders. “You just have to say a word; I’m always ready for a repeat…

Napoleon leans across the small table mindful of the hot samovar and slowly brushes his tongue across Ilya’s lips.

Then he sits back and awaits his fate.

“…performance”. Ilya finishes. He looks at Napoleon with the same relaxed and happy face he had on for the day and gives a tiny nod.

XXX

They end up sucking each other off on the bed. In the same time, so it takes some maneuvering. Napoleon’s head is piling on Ilya’s thigh and he watches as Peril sucks him messily, sloppily, and wetly. Their bodies are so clean, even the musk is barely there and Napoleon sucks Ilya’s cock as a lollipop, lazy swirls, all lush, no rush. They both go slow, while they can.

After they just lay feet to head for a bit, Napoleon absently stroking Ilya’s flank, Russian fingers circling Napoleon’s ankle and squeezing.

“So… did you enjoy it”, Ilya asks.

“Very much. We definitely should make it part of our routine”.

“Banja too?”

“Maybe”.


End file.
